


Part III

by tokii



Series: 壊れた方 [36]
Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-31 03:56:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21439822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tokii/pseuds/tokii
Summary: Uhtred and the band set off for Ireland to help Finan reclaim his land.Tag: Light Purple (Mood).
Series: 壊れた方 [36]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1542805





	Part III

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sophisthoe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophisthoe/gifts).

Part III

Finan the Bastard

“Shite.” Finan flicks a pebble at his feet, eyes narrowed irritably. The stone thuds against the tip of his boot and drops to the sucking mud. He tips his head back, stinking wetness soaking into his thick hair. “That could have gone better,” he frowns, thick accent grating in his hoarse throat.

“It certainly could have.” Uhtred sits beside him, staring hard at the rusted bars. He rubs his sore brow with a bloodied finger. “Who knew the bastards could think.”

“It’s Aethelwold, Lord. This whole place reeks of lies and spilled ale.” Finan’s face bunches, tossing another pebble at his boot.

“I know.” Uhtred pulls his finger from his brow, peering down his nose. “The battle was lost before it began. And we were played for fools.” He rubs the blood between his fingers, a thin line trickling to his palm. “The little weasel whispered words of poison in my uncle’s ear. Made him paranoid, irrational.” Uhtred clenches his fist, blood dribbling down his wrist, mouth twisting. “There was no strategy, no organized attack. Just madness. You can’t win against madness, it’s too unpredictable.”

Finan’s bright eyes flicker in the torchlight, tendons on his thick neck standing out, “Sihtric and Osferth made an escape with a quarter of the army down the coast. They would have taken cover in the forest land to the east.” He rubs at his thumb, hard enough that skin starts to peel up. “If they hunt as they move, they can last for a few weeks without being found by your uncle’s spies. But we’ll have to replenish the men. We’ll need warriors.” He presses into the new, pink flesh, turning it purple. His voice strains, deep voice humming in the small space, and he dips his shoulders as he looks up. “Uhtred. I know this is important to you. But Bebbanburg will have to wait.”

Uhtred grinds his teeth, jaw clenching awkwardly. “It cannot wait, Finan. I cannot wait. I cannot stand my uncle sitting in my father’s chair. It makes me sick.”

Finan claps Uhtred’s chest, “Then we will need men.”

“And where will we find these warriors, Finan? All of Northumbria is either Dane or weakened by the Danes. The ones who would join us already fight for little kings. And Wessex will give us no aid.”

“There is an option, Lord.” Finan drops his eyes, voice harsh like rubbing gravel. “We could sail to Ireland.”

“What?” Uhtred jerks his head. “Ireland? And what would we expect to find there? Sheep?”

“A bunch of burly Irishmen, I reckon. And sheep.” Finan’s face is hard, eyes dark despite the flickering light. “I have men I can call upon. They are loyal to me. And I am loyal to you, Uhtred.” Finan looks up. “If what we need is men, Lord, warriors, I say we go to Ireland.”

Uhtred bites into his lip. “Ireland. And how is it, Finan, that you have men sworn to you?”

“They were my father’s men. He was cruel, and fierce on the field of battle. He lived by his sword and he pointed death at all he hated. All I knew of him was his fist, and his men knew his wrath. But it was my charge to lead them against the warring noblemen when the north broke into violence. And my father’s army learned they had my sword, and my respect.” Finan fiddles with his pink thumb, “And they swore themselves to me.”

“Do you remember?” Uhtred wipes the blood from his brow, “That Irish warrior at Yeavering? You stuck a lance through his mouth. Pinned him to the wall of the fort with one throw.” Uhtred claps his hands on his thighs, rubbing the blood from his palm. “That night, you got drunker than usual with the men. You said you were a prince.” Uhtred looks sideways.

Finan sucks his teeth, glancing at his feet. “My brother and I… we were, of a sort.” His voice dips oddly, low and throaty.

“You have a brother, Finan?” Uhtred turns his chin up, crossing his arms over his knees.

“Aye.” His voice pinches, twitching his shoulder up. “I wronged him, he wronged me. As brothers do. The story’s sad and far too uninteresting to tell sober. Uhtred, it didn’t matter who I had been, who my family was, when I met you in the hull of that slave ship. We simply were. Men without names or titles.” Finan’s dark eyes are narrowed, unblinking. “And you are my brother now, Uhtred.” He’s still scraping at his thumb, blood bubbling up onto his fingernails. “We’ll need the men.”

“Why were you in the hull of that ship, Finan…” Uhtred clasps his hands together.

“I was in love, Uhtred.” Finan sighs, tipping his head back. “I was in love, and she wasn’t mine to have. I was hunted like a dog and stripped of everything.”

“Your brother… will he have men loyal to him?” A glop of mud drips from the ceiling to Uhtred’s brow, and he winces, wiping it from the drying blood above his eye.

Finan bobs his head, “Oh, I’m sure of it.”

“A lot can change over the years, Finan…” He shivers slightly, pressing his fist to the wetness seeping through his forehead.

“Aye. That’s why we’ll have to be ready.” Finan looks down at his lap. “Will you sail with me, Uhtred, to Ireland?” He looks over, cocking his head slightly.

“I will sail with you, Finan. And if you must settle things between you and your brother, I will be there at your back to watch your flank.” Uhtred claps his hand on Finan’s shoulder, lips turned up.

“Oh, you would like that wouldn’t you? Watching my flank. My mum blessed me with a fat arse.” Finan grins crookedly.

Uhtred pushes Finan nearly over, Finan snorting as he grabs at his pained side. He groans through a chuckle, rubbing at the dull ache as he flashes a silly smirk at Uhtred. “Don’t worry, Uhtred, this fat arse’ll be the only thing keeping you warm at night. I’ll not have you die of a chill.”

“The great Uhtred of Bebbanburg, frozen to death in a Saxon prison.” Uhtred shakes his head, a smile wrinkling his chin, the red at his brow dripping quicker through his fingers.

“Cuddled nice and snug next to his Irish prince.” Finan unstrings his chest armor, grabbing a strip of cloth tucked under his vest. He swats Uhtred’s hand off his brow and presses the cloth to the leaking gash. “My, your uncle needs a good kick up his arse. I’ll have to teach him some manners. There’s nothing worse than a standing prick, and your uncle is the worst I’ve seen.”

Uhtred groans, squeezing his eyes tight, “We can’t sail to Ireland if we die here.”

“Neither of us are dying, Lord.” Finan coos, pressing the cloth harder against Uhtred’s forehead. “We had a man in Bebbanburg. Well, I, had a man in Bebbanburg. Made sure a message got to Sihtric and Osferth in the east before your uncle got too happy beating the life out of us.”

Uhtred giggles in his sing-song way, sighing, “You are too good for me, Finan.”

“Aye, I am, Lord.” Finan’s dark eyes smile, “Don’t tell the lads, though.

The door bursts open and they jerk their heads toward the noise. Sihtric runs a dagger through a guard’s gut, and Osferth smashes his pommel into another’s nose, dropping him. They both huff, shoulders heaving. “What the fuck is this?” Sihtric mutters, pointing with his blade at Uhtred and Finan. His thin smirk betrays his stern tone, “You’re captured for one day and we find you snuggling in the pits beneath Bebbanburg?”

“My God. I cannot believe it.” Osferth shakes his head, mouth open. “We marched an army here to come save you two.” He glances over at Sihtric, who drops his blade to his side, panting.

“Maybe we should leave them, Osferth?” Sihtric raises his brow, showing his teeth at Osferth.

“I think so. They look just fine, Sihtric.” Osferth gestures with his bloodied bat. “The guards will never know we were here.”

“Well…” Sihtric looks down at the guard crumpled at his feet.

Uhtred grins, “It took you two long enough.”

Finan shouts, “A day, Sihtric? Are you dense? We’ve been freezing our arses off for three nights now.”

“Sihtric cannot count, Finan.” Uhtred curls his lips, blinking one eye at the blood weighing on his lashes.

Osferth sways back to look at Sihtric, who is wrinkling his face while his lips work out an answer, “And how would you know how long it’s been, Finan?”

“I can smell it on Uhtred. It’s definitely been three nights of not washing and sitting in rotting mud.” Finan nudges Uhtred in the shoulder, and Uhtred slaps him in his ribs. Finan falls back, grabbing at his side through choking laughter.

Uhtred catches the bloodied rag in his hand and presses it back to his brow, “Are you just going to stand there?”

Osferth shrugs and Sihtric grabs an axe from under a guard’s neck. He slides his hand down the handle and throws his weight into smashing the blade against the lock on the bars. It pops off cleanly, the rusting door creaking open.

Sihtric reaches out and takes Uhtred’s hand, “What now, Lord?”

Osferth bends and consoles a sore Finan still sprawled on the cell floor. “You all right there, warrior?” Osferth’s chin dimples as he and Finan grip each other’s forearms.

“Shut up, Osferth,” Finan grunts, swaying slightly once he’s on his feet.

“We’re off to Ireland,” Uhtred blinks. “We’re going to use Finan’s men to replenish our army. And… we’ll kill his brother while we’re at it.” Uhtred steps over the bodies, leaving Sihtric and Osferth to gape at Finan. “Oh, and Finan’s a prince.” Uhtred shuffles out through the passage, waving his hand over his head at Finan.

“I thought you were joking?” Sihtric says, kicking his foot into a groaning guard.

“What? Where was I?” Osferth looks between them, mouth still hanging open.

“You were unconscious, baby monk. And you will be again if this nonsense continues.” Finan inches between them, still holding his side. He towers over Osferth, breathing into his face as he steps past.

“Wow. What happened to us being brothers, Finan? You know, us telling each other everything?” Sihtric moans, wiping his blade into his shirt sleeve.

“We’re not women, Sihtric,” Osferth mumbles, shaking his head as he follows Finan out.

Sihtric throws his hands up, “Communication is important, Osferth.” He grumbles, hopping between the guards. “Finan’s a prince. Who knew the bastard was a truthful drunk.” Sihtric pauses, face dropping. “Finan! Did you sleep with my wife?”

Finan chortles heartily through the passageway, “I’m not one to hump women that aren’t mine to have, Sihtric. Besides, the gold I gave her was for something else.”

“And what would that be?” Sihtric runs up behind him, voice squeaking.

“She has relations in Ireland. I only asked after some people I left behind.” Finan smiles to himself, “But I’ll soon see for myself.”

  * ••

Finan smashes his forehead into Conall’s nose, blood spurting into his eyes, the cracking of bone stinging his ears. Conall groans, throwing his hand up to his face as Finan kicks him backwards over a corpse. He tumbles over the broken body and sprawls clumsily to the mire, blood bubbling through his crumpled nostrils. Conall’s eyes burn black as he twists around, grasping his sword, “I’ll kill you, Finan! I’ll rip your heart from your chest and feed it to my dogs!” He roars as he swipes at Finan’s side, lunging forward and slipping sideways into a puddle of bile.

Finan stumbles out of his brother’s reach, a spear whistling just past his ear. He spins, eyes wild, the spear thrower still frozen in his stance. Finan rips the axe from his belt and sinks it deeply into the startled face, tissue splitting up to the handle. Lifeblood leaks from the waning skull, greasing Finan’s tangled hair into strands as the man’s knees buckle. Finan jerks his head down at Conall, bloodied hair whipping at his face. He hisses hard through his teeth, “Where are my sons, Conall?” Conall grins, swollen gums showing through the veil of blood pouring into his mouth until his breath is knocked from his chest. Finan tackles him into the thick of the mud, heavy shoulders driving Conall over the lip of a trench. They tumble together over the bodies of felled men, Finan finding a hold on Conall’s neck as they splash into the murky bottom. Finan throws him against the clay wall, pressing his blade into the thick of his throat, “Where are they!?” Spittle flies through his bloodied teeth, his blade biting at Conall’s vein.

Conall gurgles as he laughs, nose bent against his cheek. “Dead,” he seethes, inching up into Finan’s knife. “Dead, save your youngest. And he’s buried in the deepest pit on earth. You’ll never find him, Finan. I made sure of it.”

Finan tenses his shoulders, head quivering as he leans closer, digging his blade’s edge into the warmth of his brother’s neck. “And Saerlaith?”

“She’s with your sons. On the bottom of the sea in sacrifice to Bedaius.”

Finan squeezes his trembling hand tighter around his brother’s neck, skin bruising beneath his bloodied fingers. Conall chokes on a breath and Finan screams into his face, rage flushing his pale cheeks, eyes dark and hard, stringy spit spewing onto Conall’s crushed nose.

Conall wrenches his head up, pressing his forehead against Finan’s, “You were my brother, Finan!” They’re breathing hard into each other’s faces, Finan’s eyelashes beating fast an inch from Conall’s steely gaze. Conall pulls his lips back over bloodied teeth, closing his fist around Finan’s blade, “You betrayed me! You have cursed us all!”

Finan shakes his burning forehead against his brother’s, sorrow grating in his throat. “No, Conall, you are the betrayer. You’ve wiped out our family. Our line. My sons! And I…” Finan grits his teeth, shuddering as his eyes twitch with wet, “I’m no longer your brother.” He slides his knife through Conall’s neck, warmth gurgling and popping against his cheek. Conall jerks violently in Finan’s grasp and he paws at Finan’s face, eyes bulging. He slurps a long breath, mouthing his curses until his lips twitch still, gaping eyes staring emptily into Finan’s face. Finan loosens his aching grip and Conall’s neck slides through his fingers, his body crumpling awkwardly into the mud. Finan sniffles at the burn of bile in his throat and runs a trembling hand through his beard. He scratches at the bone chips caught in the tangles, dew wetting his cheek as his brother’s blood drips down his wrist. A heavy grasp warms his throbbing shoulder.

“It’s over, Finan,” Uhtred whispers.

Finan spits, breath shaking, and pulls his blade free from the red smile in Conall’s neck. Conall’s mouth hangs open in silent protest, head dangling crookedly. Finan stands, still staring down. “It’s not.” He turns and sloshes off through the ditch, Uhtred’s hand slipping from his shoulder. “I have to find my boy, Uhtred. If he’s still alive… then maybe, this will have meant for something.”

  * ••

In Ireland, I’m a named man. Finan the Agile. A man with men to call on. A man with a woman to warm my bed. A man with sons to carry my name. I was young, then. When I was the Agile. And killing was a dance. My sword was my voice, blood was the music I filled the earth with. And that’s how I was named. Dancing around my enemies, their heads on the tip of my blade. I’m still named. But I’m not the same man.

I have no woman to warm me. She’s sleeping in the cold depths. I have no sons behind me. Too few men to call on, and fewer still who are loyal to me alone. Most belong to my brother. Belonged, I should say. I killed him… my brother, that is. For taking my woman and casting her into the sea. He threw my children in, too. Took the title given to him and me by our father. And he sold me.

The Agile was whipped from my back. Starved from my shoulders. Finan, the Agile. I was hardly a named man in the hull of that ship… until I met Uhtred. A stubborn little bastard. And a Lord at that. Lord of a land taken from him by his kin. More than that, he was good. Brave. Kind. He was a man to be followed. He saved my life. And I saved his. We were bound to each other, in that hell. And so, I followed him. I swore myself to him, and I fought at his side. I found my name again. Though, I don’t relish the dance as I once did. I’m starting to think I might find some peace if I stay at his side. Finan the Agile. Finan the Kin Slayer. Finan the Sonless. There are too many names. Too many lives held on the edge of my sword.

Before I killed my brother, he said he spared one of my sons. Conall was many things, but a liar he was not. And I believe him. I aim to find my boy. He should be grown now. I aim to give him my name. And to look into Saerlaith’s eyes again through his. To see her smile…

Uhtred will be at my side, as I was at his. And he will be, for as long as I breathe. I know this. And with my son at my back, I may just find peace. As Finan. Uhtred’s oathsman. That’s as good a name as any.


End file.
